


Fracture

by ckoala



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mild Language, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Spoilers, Undecided Relationship(s), Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckoala/pseuds/ckoala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the time-travel incident, Evelyn Trevelyan unexpectedly finds herself suffering from a side-effect that might be allowing her to foresee the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Returning home

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize now for my grammatical quirks. (Read: "errors")

_It had all started with Alexius…_ Evelyn Trevelyan thought, opening and closing her hand reflexively.

The following nights after she and Dorian were unwilling participants in a time-altering magic, Evelyn’s disquieting dreams could no longer escape her notice. In the back of her mind, she was constantly trying to piece things. It didn’t matter where she was either–in a battle, sure, cast a spell without hitting the Iron Bull and once the ice shards were flying, she could slip in a quick thought about the nuisance.

However this time, as Iron Bull was swearing and yelling about an ice shard that zigged close to his head when he zagged, Evelyn was aware she needed to sort out this puzzle before she seriously injured one of her comrades.

“Are you even listening to me?” the giant Qunari glared at her with his one good eye. He cocked his head at her suspiciously and frowned.

“Calm your big tits,” Sera chuckled. She wiped her nose with her sleeve and a huge grin was revealed when her arm fell to her side. “I bet her mind’s elsewhere, yeah?” She pursed her lips tightly, made a loud smooching sound. “Ooo, you’re a nice one,--”

With a blush, the inquisitor broke out of her daze and clapped her hand over Sera’s mouth. She had hoped no one had noticed her interest in him... She turned her eyes to Bull. He was still glaring daggers. “I heard you Bull. And to answer you, yes, I do look before I kill. It just so happens you have an uncanny knack at being near something that needs killing.”

She let her hand fall away from Sera’s grinning mouth. Sera sidled up beside her and nudged her in the ribs with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“This is serious--”

“--Argh! Everything about the Inquisition is so serious!” Sera retorted. “We kill everything with serious!” She kicked at a pebble in the ground and it went straight into a wave. “They will die with a frown.”

“..What are you talking about?”

Evelyn glanced behind her at the roaring waves that struck the Storm Coast and sniffed deeply. The smell and spray of the sea salt was getting to her too. And while it wasn’t as bad as Sera had earlier declared hers to be–-"All smelly and salt and blecchh. Stop fucking my nose with seaweed smell"-–It was difficult to ignore the congestion building in her nose and the sting in her eyes.

Sera and Bull were still at it as Evelyn knelt down to examine what appeared to be a small patch of spindleweed growing on the rocky beach.

“Are you always so cold?” Sera baited him.

“Do you mean emotionally?" He answered, surprised at sera's sudden display of depth.

“Huh? No I mean all, y’know...brrrrr."

“No,” he answered dryly. “It is however--”

“Then how come you’re always nippy?” Sera clapped her hand over her mouth, turned and darted further down on the beach as she erupted into a fit of laughter. “I can’t look you in the eye when you’re threatening to poke my eye out.”

Bull let out a frustrated groan at Sera’s poor choice of words.He turned his head as Vivienne approached him from behind, walking with a grace that came naturally to her even on slippery rocks and stones.

Vivienne clucked her tongue. “Iron Bull, you really shouldn’t engage in conversation with her.”

“Iron Bull rubbed one of his horns with a grimace. He didn’t particularly care for his awareness being brought back to the itching he was constantly feeling on the underside of his left horn.

“I barely understand half of what comes out of that creature’s mouth. But she does have a point. Wouldn’t it make more sense to dress for the occasion, hmmm? I am well connected with almost all the fashion houses in Val Royeaux, darling. Just say the word, and we can have a fine coat made out of--” Vivienne suddenly stopped and squinted. Out in the distance, she could make out Sera’s form as it scampered deeper into the waters to continue cursing at the ocean waves. “I don’t suppose Sera can swim?”

With several newly acquired sprouts of spindleweed tucked away in her satchel, Evenlyn dusted off her hands and glanced between Vivienne and Bull. “We should get going.”

Sera’s voice was suddenly heard over the waves, but only half of what she yelled “--NURPLE! HEELP!”

“Sera!” Evelyn yelled as the elf’s blonde head disappeared under a particularly violent looking wave.

“Iron Bull,” Vivienne said and pointed with her staff to the elf. “Be a dear and save her.”

“For fuck’s sake…” was the last thing Iron Bull muttered under his breath as he broke into a run into the waves.

***

The regal looking mage rode side-saddle back into their home. An hour earlier, she had ridden astride the saddle, her dress surprisingly accommodating to her. But the moment Skyhold’s caps were in sight, she swiftly and gracefully changed her riding stance so no one was the wiser.

The arrival back at Skyhold was a huge relief to the inquisitor. Despite Sera’s coughing, sneezing–some real, some theatrical–the girl was fine. Physically, she was quite robust. Emotionally, she was overcompensating for her brush with death and the helplessness that accompanied it. And unfortunately, the two other inquisition members and the Inquisitor herself had to listen to her ramblings that had dragged on to fill all silent moments during the long ride back.

“Dear, oceans are not interested in violating city elves,” Vivienne succinctly pointed out as she dismounted next to the stables, avoiding eye contact with one of the stablehands that came out to tend to her horse. “Ships, perhaps. You must remember that an ocean is just water. It’s liquid. It cannot tell you apart from a rotting log.”

Leaping down from her own mount, Sera scowled and then glanced up ahead. “Fffft. You know what else is a liquid? It goes in a mug. In the tavern. And that’s where I’ll be.” The blue blanket that she had wrapped over her shoulders was discarded in a dramatic fashion as she sprinted off towards the tavern.

“Right behind you, Sera,” Iron Bull said agreeably and waved at the stablehand. He then followed the spry young elf but chose to walk at a leisurely place instead.

Vivienne and Evelyn exchanged glances as Blackwall appeared from the shadows of the wide barn entrance.

“Well, my dear,” Vivienne suddenly spoke up in a grand manner. “I am parched, and I believe I have some letters to look over.” She turned and her dress swirled about her legs in a manner that Evelyn was certain that she had to have practiced in her earlier years.

Blackwall nodded at Evelyn. In his hands he held a dark rag; he had been wiping off the dirt and dust from his large hands as he approached her. The rag quickly disappeared into a pocket as he spoke.

“My lady,” he greeted her.

“Oh, I’m yours?” she asked teasingly.

The Grey Warden coughed and corrected himself, “Well, not mine specifically, but a lady to everyone. Figure of speech.”

She smiled and fell into step beside him as they walked the grounds, heading towards the steps that lead to the main part of the courtyard near the entrance.

“I heard you found something of the Grey Wardens,” he said. Though his voice was warm, Evelyn was aware there was a slight disapproval in his tone. “I would’ve like to have been there.”

“Of course,” she replied diplomatically. “I’d like for you to come with us tomorrow. I’m planning a trip westward, and one of the places you mentioned is enroute to Val Royeaux.”

Blackwall hesitated and stopped on a step. “Is this for the masquerade at the Winter Palace.”

“It is.” She stopped on a higher step and turned back to watch the man carefully. “Is there a problem?”

He breathed deeply and continued following her. “I don’t care much for that kind of scene,” he spoke carefully, not wishing to offend the Inquisitor. He was well aware that Inquisitor Trevelyan was also of noble blood. “I would be useless for such court intrigues, however if you require me to be there… then I shall be there.”

Evelyn paused and reached out to grasp his arm. Through his coat, she could feel the muscles in his bicep that was a testament to all his hard training and work for the Grey Wardens.

“Blackwall… I’m asking you. Would you want to go?”

The man again dodged the question by placing the onus on Evelyn.

Evelyn sighed, tucking a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. “Alright, here’s my decision then. You do not have to go. But I would appreciate you pick someone to take your place who you believe would be ideal for such… court intrigues.”

The tension in Blackwall drained out of him immediately. His entire body sagged with relief. “Thank you, my lady.”

Evelyn chuckled. “You have survived my judgement. May I never sit in judgement of you,” she teased and then nodded towards the keep. “I’m heading in. Did you need anything else?”

“No, I am just on my way to see Cullen,” he answered. His eyes quickly wandered over the keep to see Cassandra descending with her eyes focused on the Inquisitor. “But I believe Cassandra appears to be in need of you.’

Evelyn sighed. She had hoped to slink off to her quarters unnoticed, but there was never a free moment. With luck, after she finished with Cassandra, there would only be two other people waiting for her attention.

“A pleasure as always,” Blackwall said as he waved his farewell. And with that, he passed Cassandra with a cordial nod.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra finally greeted her after her gaze swept back and forth between her and the Grey Warden. She looked like she wanted to comment on what appeared to be a sterling rapport that might be more than that, but she wisely said nothing and instead fell into step beside her as they climbed the steps. “You have returned. How was the Storm Coast?”

“Do you want the formal report?” Evelyn asked warmly.

“Erm,” Cassandra’s eyebrows furrowed. “Not really.”

“Alright,” she said as they entered the grand hall. “Thanks to Vivienne and I, there are less holes for the darkspawn to come crawling out of. Also I gathered more spindleweed. I believe we were running low."

"That is good. The garden is currently growing elfroot at Solas' insistence."

"And thanks to Sera, there is about 2 pints less water in the ocean, and soon also 2 pints less ale in our tavern's storeroom. But that's just an approximation."

Cassandra face-faulted, not sure how to respond. “...What does that even mean?”

“Sera had some revenge plot that accidentally involved inhaling a part of the Storm Coast,” Evelyn explained as she turned her eyes to the grand looking seat with the Inquisition symbol’s eye staring at her. “She’s fine. Bull was there. Plucked her right out of the ocean. She and Bull are at the tavern right now."

“Ah, I see.”

“Is there something wrong?” Evelyn asked before glancing at the Seeker with a concerned expression. While she and Cassandra had become friends, the Seeker was still known to keep her friends at a distance. Evelyn had not expected Cassandra ready to welcome the party home.

“I am hesitant to say,” Cassandra finally said with a frown.

“You, hesitant...Really? I suppose this means it’s something that can’t be solved with a good swing. With a sword, or a mace, or morning star…”

A small smile appeared on the striking woman’s face, her lips tugging higher on the side that bore a pronounced scar. “This is true. But we can discuss that later.”

They made it past the doorway and paused in front of the fireplace and the table that Varric was known to haunt. In fact, the dwarf was sitting at said desk, scribbling away. A stack of papers lay in disarray before him.

“Commander Cullen will be glad that you are back, and Josephine too.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by and see them.”

Varric lifted his head from his correspondence and smirked, “Curly has been wringing his hands since you left. And Ruffles has been pacing in front of her own fireplace enough that I think the floor in front of it is lower than the rest of the room. ”

Evelyn coughed nervously. “I wonder what could be causing that?”

The dwarf shrugged and answered, “For Cullen: an uptight childhood. For Ruffles: I don't know, maybe her pantaloons are too tight.”

“Varric,” Evelyn eyed him with a wary smile.

“You said could,” he answered with a tsk sound. “I swear, you people need to use your words more carefully.”

“Yes,” Cassandra added dryly. “We do not need to give him more fodder. Will we ever be compensated for any of the inspiration we’ve give you?”

“Tell you what, Seeker. Every time one of my characters punches someone else in the face, I will set aside a copper for you.” Varric tended his hands in a fiendish manner. “Two if someone is also called a “son of a bitch.” Better?”

“Yes,” Cassandra turned up her chin indignantly, turning her attention back to Evelyn. “Cullen has been driving Josephine mad with the constant drilling of the soldiers.”

“What? Why? We don’t really need our forces at Halamshiral, do we?"

“No, we do not. I admit, while I am all for preparing our troops, I cannot help but be concerned for the troops should he keep training them until they are exhausted,” Cassandra reasoned with a shake of her head.

“Oh.”

The breath froze in Evelyn’s lungs and all she could hear was her heartbeating loudly in her ears. She blinked, staring where Cassandra used to be; In the darkness, red lyrium crystals pulsed before her eerily. They gave off a stifling heat that washed over her body the moment she noticed them.

The air felt alarmingly thick again, and with it, she could feel something creeping towards her.

This was what had concerned her and had stayed with her during every waking moment. This was what had bothered her when she accidentally nicked Iron Bull’s horn. She was hoping to be alone not only to ponder this but also when she experienced it; it was not to be.

A sense of dread struck and she closed her eyes, listening to the voices that whispered to her. She mentally steeled herself for whatever was coming her way.

“The soldiers were too tired…” she heard what had to be Cassandra’s voice. There was no mistaking the edge or the accent. “It is not your fault.”

Her eyes widened as she heard a soft crying.

 _Sounds like Josephine,_ she thought with a sigh.

She was relieved when she didn't hear the Antivan speak.

“The fault is mine,” the male voice was soft, bitter, muffled, and tinged with a Ferelden accent.

 _Is that...Cullen…?_ Her brow creased and she swallowed hard.

“There would be no deaths had--”

“--Inquisitor?”

Before her eyes, Cassandra reappeared instantly. She had said it in such a sharp yet polite manner.

“What is it?” the Seeker asked. She looked concerned.

“Oh,” Evelyn politely cleared her throat in attempt to regain her composure. “I hope I haven’t been staring silently too long.”

The seeker arched a finely groomed brow, “No. Just a moment. You said “oh” and then you looked at me confused. No, terrified would be more accurate. Are you all right, Inquisitor?”

Evelyn laughed and waved her hand with an apologetic smile, “I… I am fine. It must be the heat.

“The heat? In these snowy mountains…?” Varric snorted.

In several quick movements, Cassandra removed one glove and pressed her palm to the Inquisitor’s forehead before she could protest or move.

“Your temperature is too hot,” Cassandra said, startled. “I will call for Solas--”

“--No! I-I’m all right.”

“Says the woman who just a moment ago complained about the heat. You shouldn’t be on your feet, you need to rest.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Honestly, between you and Cullen, I should ask Varric if he’s taking bets on who finds their limit first.”

Evelyn hesitated but then slowly nodded, “You’re right… I should be alone. To rest."

As she headed down the great hall, she faintly heard Varric's astonished voice, "You really want to place another bet?"


	2. An eventful morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if there's any errors. I posted this as soon as I finished. I'll go back later and fix any glaring issues I find.

While Evelyn typically had simpler tastes, her spacious quarters were incapable of reflecting that. Josephine had explained to her once that when nobles and other potential “investors” visited, they also expected a peek at the Inquisitor’s private quarters to get a glimpse of her private life. That glimpse needed to reflect the expectations of their guests as to what message the Inquisition would be spreading across Thedas.

As a result, Evelyn often had no idea what the decoration of her living quarters would be. Two weeks ago, the decor was elaborate, ornate, and “froofy”–Sera’s words to describe anything Orlesian. It was a gaudy explosion of gold, silk, overly elaborate knotwork, and the overpowering scent of Orlesian lavender. Before she left for the Storm Coast, it was obviously Ferelden from the over-the-top dog-themed decor that could not go unnoticed.

She had braced herself as she climbed the last set of stone steps. Josephine had mentioned that the visiting Comte truly believed that she was the Herald of Andraste and felt that the present they had brought along with them was a _“beau geste.”_

Evelyn had never come across that phrase in her life but apparently it was Orlesian for a ridiculously huge and very religious rug.

Previously, two criss-crossed red rugs had occupied most of the floor space, while Chantry-themed circular rugs were placed under the desk and under the bed. Those rugs were gone and instead, the space stretching from the desk, the fireplace, the foot of the bed, and under the feet of the sofa by the stairs was a new rug. It was plush in its appearance, and featured a very stoic and very dramatic depiction of Andraste. Parts of her hair was covered by the heavy footboard of the bed, and what would have been Andraste’s left bicep was hidden under her desk. Andraste’s eyes were directed at the burning fireplace solemnly.

“I… have no words,” Evelyn finally said after staring down at Andraste’s visage.

She exhaled and crossed the rug to deposit the book she was carrying. “The Abridged History of Orlesian Nobility: A Titillating Journey” was set upon the other stack of reading materials that her advisors and companions had insisted she read.

The stack was getting larger every day.

The contents of the stack are as follows: From Cullen, there were two tomes: one was about recognizing combat styles based on battle stances, and the other about heraldry and crests because of one question Evelyn had voiced to fill the silence. Those were at the very bottom of the stack. A botanist’s field guide was presented to her by Leiliana. Hard in Hightown written by Varric Tethras was fourth from the bottom. There was a book just called “The Masculine Art of Imbibing.” She was unsure if that was from Dorian, or Iron Bull, perhaps even Sera. And then there was “An illustrated history of Swiving” which was at the top of the stack.

There was also a second small stack of combat-related books that the commander had--

Evelyn blinked. Did she read that title correctly?

She picked up the brown leather book. It looked surprisingly new. She flipped it open to find herself staring at another book cover: “Swords and Shields, Vol 2.” Cassandra had discreetly loaned it to her after Evelyn excitedly and too willingly admitted–after one too many drinks at the Herald’s rest–that she was a big fan of the first book. And it was true, she could not lie to the Seeker for the sake of forcing a bond of friendship with the woman. Unfortunately, Evelyn had been unable to find the continuing books in the Ostwick Circle’s library, thus Cassandra insisted on ending their conversation lest she reveal too much.

Evelyn closed the book again and chuckled. It was a false cover. She was mildly disappointed that “An illustrated history of Swiving” did not exist because it could have been  able to answer all the questions that had plagued her since her early adulthood years in the Circle. Based on the scribbles on inside the false cover, it was a product of Sera’s mischief. The drawing was a summation of Sera’s thoughts on the Swords and Shields whether she meant it to be or not: it was of male genitalia… lots of it. And it was surprisingly accurate for a woman who insisted that “lady parts are heh heh heh... Grin.” No, Sera didn’t grin at the time, she in fact just said “grin.”

While it bothered Evelyn that Sera was sneaking about her private quarters, she could ignore it so long as the crafty elf kept leaving harmless things behind as entertainment and kept her paws off her private belongings which were stashed in under the cushions of the sofa.

With an amused smile, Evelyn glanced over at her bed.

“Sweet Maker,” she muttered under her breath.

As much as she had hated the gold silky fabrics, the bedding was an exception. Mainly because the feeling of the silk against her skin while she slept was the closest she’d ever get to being cocooned by joy or feeling like a beautifully wrapped confection. It was something she had delighted in so much that she had started to wear less and less to bed. Once she got over her fears of someone rushing in to her quarters in the middle of the night. Like assassins. Or Iron Bull again after the night that shall never be mentioned ever.

_Ever._

However, if she were to sleep naked yet again, but this time under new bedding that had Andraste’s face emblazoned on it, she wouldn’t be surprised if she were suddenly smote.

While she preferred the red drapes that were freshly hung (mostly because the gold curtains illuminated the room even at night), and even the the simple looking black wrought iron candle trees were lovely to her, the weight of Andraste’s gaze was too much for her.

She was going to have to talk to Josephine and risk the diplomat’s dismay. She also knew she wanted to have a word with Cullen about how hard he was working the soldiers. The voices she kept hearing… it bothered her.

But she could do that after a proper night’s sleep.

***

Evelyn had woken before dawn when she felt the air in her bedchamber threatening to choke her.

Her hands tightened its grip on the Andrastian bedding. She was prepared. She steeled herself to see the red lyrium shards before her.

She was stunned when she found none. Only darkness greeted her.

“This is different,” she thought, nervous as she glanced around.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing. But, she could hear a soft sound growing. It started as a hiss, but then grew louder until it buzzed in her ears, and pressed against her skull.

Her eyelids squeezed shut tightly and her body balled up to protect itself as best as she could…

And then nothing.

The pressure was gone. The deafening buzz was gone. All that she could hear were footsteps in the grass.

Grass.

But she was in her bed… wasn’t she?

When she opened her eyes, she was standing in what looked to be a sparring ring in the ward near the Herald's Rest. This was puzzling to her. She had walked the castle grounds many times. There was no such sparring ring anywhere.

“Is this the fade?” she suddenly asked out loud, hoping Solas might appear.

“… It doesn’t matter what you think,” she heard Cullen’s voice behind her. His voice was full of remorse and shook with anger. “This could have been avoided. The fault is mine.”

She turned around. Talking near the stone walls was Cullen, Cassandra, and Josephine. The commander stood with his shoulders hunched and his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He looked at Cassandra with an irritable gaze.

Cassandra looked as stoic as she always did.

Evelyn walked over to them and reached out to touch Cassandra’s shoulder. It passed right through the seeker to her horror. She then turned her eyes to Josephine. The ambassador appeared to be quietly crying into a delicate lace handkerchief.

“She did not have to go,” Cassandra reasoned. “She knew the risks that came with the role--”

“--We all knew the risks!” Cullen roared back. “It was not supposed to be this way! She told me this might have happened, but I didn’t think it would happen to her… I couldn’t...”

“Who?” Evelyn demanded loudly and reached over to grab Cullen. Again, her hand passed through, but this time, she found she had managed to grab on to something.

It was the bedding.

Looking down, she saw Andraste gazing at her, or glaring at her. No, definitely glaring.

Evelyn sighed and glanced over at the balcony doors. The sun had barely peeked over the mountains. She rolled out of bed and walked to each candle tree to light them. She did not want to leave her room yet as she had no idea what she wanted to say to Dorian, Josephine, and perhaps Cullen.

She wanted a distraction. She glanced over at the sofa, wondering if she should retrieve the little sketchbook she personally hand bound and stitched together. Instead, her eyes fell upon the stack of books on her desk.

***

Josephine had promised it would be an easy read and full of scandal.

“First written record of the DuBois family goes back over 150 years from when their ancestors immigrated from Antiva…”

Evelyn sighed and snapped the boring book shut. Most of the scandals listed were watered down. Occasionally there was mention of someone’s mistress being found in the larder with someone else’s mistress, but the majority of the scandals laid out were about fashion and etiquette faux pas.

“So many families,” she groaned. “And this is the easier edition?”

She rolled over in her bed and flung the heavy tome across the room as she turned. She immediately regretted it when “The Abridged History of Orlesian Nobility: A Titillating Journey” crashed into the ornate candle tree perched in front her desk. The black iron candle tree fell over into the desk, taking down the stack of books. A sound of panic erupted from her throat as Evelyn vaulted from the large bed and scrambled to save the heap of books from the weight of the candelabra and the burning candles that were strewn about.

She collected the candles as quickly as she could, extinguishing the flames as she went. Her fingers stung every time she touched small blobs of hot wax. Several of the candlesticks were bent, and many of the book covers were splattered with the white wax.

“Oh… no no no,” Evelyn mourned the books as she extinguished what she thought was the last flame.

She felt terrible as she picked up the book she had been reading. The wax had sunk into the leather indentations. She worked quietly, trying to pick off the wax from the book title which was completely covered.

“The bridge of No Tit Jo,” was what was emblazoned on the cover when she paused her work of cleaning off the wax. She frowned. The wax had pulled off the gold gilded lettering from the cover.

She thought she had heard her door open, but it barely registered in her mind as something else overpowered her senses. There was a strange odor in in the air. It smelled a bit like Ferelden horses after charging into battle, or dirty burning stable. She turned her head and caught sight of a part of the rug on fire.

“Oh shit!”

“Oi, Inquizzy, are you awake--” Sera’s voice cut in.

In the now open door way, the elf’s eyes widened as she saw the Inquisitor stomping on a fire on a shitty rug that some Orlesian prig had boasted about gifting to the Inquisition.

“Aaaah, what the frig?” she yelled. She was too startled to set down the pitcher or two goblets she had brought up. “Fire!”

Evelyn turned to Sera, spotted the earthenware pitcher in her hand and grabbed it. She flung the liquid at the rug. To her horror, the flames grew larger.

“Sera! What was in there?!”

“Bull gave it to me,” she blurted out.

“At _this_ time--Oh forget it…!”

“Aargh, get the bedding!” Sera shouted, rushing the bed.

Evelyn followed suit and tugged on the heavy bedcovers with the young elf.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Evelyn asked, as she struggled to untuck one of the corners.

“You wanna throw more drink at it?” Sera asked witheringly.

***

A chill breeze hit the three of them as they stood on the balcony, reflecting upon the moment.

“ _Vass-a-frass_ ,” Sera muttered, failing to repeat one of the few Tevene phrase she had picked up. She had said it with a surprisingly good Tevene accent. “Tongue shitty,” she then added also in the same accent.

Dorian slowly removed his palm from covering his face and exhaled slowly as they stared down below into the gardens below where some of the soldiers had been resting.

“By Andraste’s flaming rug...” he murmured under his breath. “Sera, it’s _Vishante Kaff_ \--oh forget it.”

Evelyn glanced back behind her at the ruined bedding covered with holes burned into Andraste’s face. Evelyn’s eyes trailed over to the edge of the room where the ruined books and the candelabra had been shoved aside. Dorian had arrived on the scene and amazingly yanked the entire rug out from under the heavy desk and heavy bed. It was a sight to have seen him quickly roll up the burning rug and launch it over the balcony like an Avvar warrior out of lore.

“We’re all in the shitter if Corifficus uses rugs,” Sera remarked.

Evelyn snorted back a laugh as Dorian smiled, shaking his head.

When the burning rug had struck the ground where the soldiers were lounging, all but one had scattered like guilty children. The lone soldier that remained was still napping on a stone bench. However, it did reflect well upon the forces that the alarm bell had sounded within three minutes after the rug struck, and that veteran soldiers arrived on the scene with their weapons drawn, prepared to battle a foe that wasn’t an area rug.

The Tevinter-born mage squinted in the sunlight and stared down. He wasn’t sure, but there was a brown and red shape that glinted with metal. It appeared to be stalking back and forth in front of the troops in a frantic manner.

“Shit, that’s either an angry bear, or Cullen.”

Evelyn followed Dorian’s gaze to see Cullen and hear Cullen shouting at the soldiers. She couldn’t make out what was being said as the distance distorted it enough, but she recognized the tone; It was definitely angry.

“So much for the Comte’s _beau juste_.”

“Bow juiced?” Sera repeated as she stared down at the smoldering rug.

“ _Beau juste,_ ” Dorian repeated smoothly with a proper Orlesian accent. “It’s basically a grand gesture.”

Sera cackled loudly. Evelyn and Dorian turned to look at her. There had to be a good punchline rolling around in her head, but the elf didn’t share it, so they turned away from the balcony.

“Days like these are exactly why I’d loathe to return to Tevinter,” Dorian walked back into the bedroom suite and clucked his tongue. “Oh dear, those poor innocent books.”

“You know, Dorian,” Evelyn suddenly said as she followed him in. “I’m impressed. The way you got the rug out from under the bed and the desk is amazing. You may be selling yourself short by being a mage. I had no idea you had that kind of brute strength about you.”

“Yes, I’m amazing. I’ve been telling everyone that for years. But, being a mage has it’s perks. Flowing fabric is… well, it’s very seductive.” He stopped and shook his head. “Metal… not so much. And it probably chafes.”

“Leather’s not bad,” Sera piped up with a shrug. “Oh, that reminds me, Blackwall was looking for you, Ev.”

Evelyn’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, what does he want?”

“No idea. Didn’t bother to ask Beardy.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, “Why does leather remind you of Blackwall?”

Sera wrinkled her nose as she headed towards the door. “He smells like a saddle,” she said matter of factly. “But, whatever you’re into.”

The elf paused and blurted out, “I have a better gesture for you!” And then she did something with both of her hands and quick frantic motions that Evelyn did not recognize, but could only assume it related to Sera’s favorite subject: genitalia. Dorian, however, recognized it and chuckled.

Regardless, Sera giggled and left.

As the door closed behind her, Dorian smirked. “So, is that what you’re into? Men who smell like leather or stables? Muscled men who carry more than one sword? A man who looks like he has a bit of a stomach when he wears--”

“--I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Evelyn said innocently as she crouched down to pick up the Orlesian Nobility history book she was reading. The book was still covered in wax except for the parts she had picked off.

““The bridge of...” Dorian’s read over her shoulder. “That… what are people making you read exactly?”

“Cullen started it, then Leiliana joined in. Next thing I knew, I have to read at least half a book a night otherwise I’ll be buried under books.”

He joined her and knelt down to help her. ”Oh my… Please tell me this is from a certain blond commander.”

In his hand, he held up “An illustrated history of Swiving.” He was practically salivating. But when he opened it, he was just as disappointed as she had been.

“Dammit Sera! For a moment I thought perhaps there was a secret genre of Southern literature that I was not aware of. Pity.”

“Swords and Shields is worth a read,” Evelyn offered.

“No, it isn’t. They talk. And have feelings. It makes them too person-like,” he complained and glanced down at Sera’s doodles again. “Being a person is...Huh… I wonder if Sera used models for this… Hmmm..”

“See anyone you know?”

Dorian snapped his fingers. “New war table operation: Acquire official Inquisition illustrator,” he announced grandly. “One properly versed in drawing anatomically correct men. I can have the deciding vote.”

“Dorian...”

He smiled, closed the book and set it down. “Burning area rugs aside, I came here to check up on you and see how you were feeling in Solas’ stead.”

Evelyn groaned. “I’m fine. I told Cassandra not to talk to him. It is nothing.”

He shrugged. “I had to come. Solas’ scalp puckers when he gets concerned and it alarms poor Josephine. And Josephine is already in a panic with _our_ trip to the Winter Palace being delayed because of the scare you gave Cassandra.”

Evelyn scowled. “The peace talks aren’t starting for three more nights.”

“I know that. Lady Ambassador said something about wanting you to be there early to meet with some dignitaries and what not. Most likely to squeeze some gold out of them with a winning smile.” Dorian flashed a smile. “Yours, not mine. But I’d like to be there too if that’s all well and good with you.”

The inquisitor sighed and lowered her head. In response, Dorian tilted his head charmingly to the side and cupped her chin with one hand to lift her gaze to his.

“I am also here to gossip and improve morale. The wonders I did on your morale in destroying poorly thought out decor is now out the door with my depressingly dull news about Halamshiral. So, do you want to move on to gossipping? I hear that someone’s been sending the commander cakes and I have some theories I’d love to run by you.”

The tips of Dorian’s mustache twitched from his smile as Evelyn took the book from him and set it back on the desk.

“Dorian, I’m…” she hesitated, not wanting to tell him entirely what was going on. “Ah...do you…”

This was harder than she thought. As she stuttered and sifted through the words in her head, she watched as a look of concern crossed the tanned mage’s face.

“Whatever is the matter? I won’t breathe a word to anyone else if that’s what’s stopping you.”

“Do you… ever worry about what could be?”

“You are going to have to be more specific. Do you mean regrets? Or something else? I sometimes worry what my next meal is and whether or not that damn Ferelden cook will be overzealous with the spice again. Honestly, embrium is a garnish, not--”

“No, not regrets. I don’t have any of those.”

“Lucky you.”

Crossing the now barren floor space over to her bed, she sat down on the edge and tried again.

“What happened with Alexius…” she trailed off, glancing over at the burning fireplace. “And, the future that could have been. Is… it possible that there could be… something wrong, or strange side effects from us seeing a future we shouldn’t have been able to?”

Dorian’s brow creased. “... You’ve lost me. Are you referring to dabbling in time magic?”

Instead of agreeing or explaining herself further, Evelyn backtracked. “Never mind, I-I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Evelyn…”

A guilty feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to talk to him, but wasn’t sure how she could explain it without coming across as a deranged woman. Surely Dorian could understand. Perhaps he was experiencing the same thing.

“Do you… ah… never mind. I… I need some time to think about what I’m trying to say.”

Hesitating, the mage nodded. “All right… In that case, I will have the rest of that out of you later then. Should you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“The tavern.”

“Yes,” Dorian said with a wave over his shoulder. His voice faded as he descended the steps. “Iron Bull is in need of some cheering up. It’s a damn shame his men are dead.”

The door shut behind him and Evelyn felt a punch to the gut.

She was wrong when she had said she had no regrets; She was just reminded of one of her biggest.

 


	3. Continuing the circling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will have to go back and change Evelyn's name. I really should just use the Inquisitor name I used for my games, but it was "Leila" and that is too close to "Leliana".  
> Also, brief sexual content in this chapter.

Evelyn’s fingers were smudged with ink. She lifted the goose quill pen close to her face to find out she had pressed too hard and cracked the tip. The ink formed a blob on one side and trickled down to her fingers after it could blob no more. She glanced up from her desk and stared over to the stairs where Dorian had descended from half an hour ago.

She was stressed. Instead of going down to explain the burning rug to Cullen or going with Dorian to be there for Iron Bull, she remained in her quarters determined to avoid the inevitable.

 _Like a coward,_ she thought bitterly. It still bothered her that because everyone expected so much from her, and so many different things from her. She felt that she was bound to fail. And she had. But it was easier to continue as though it weren’t so if she smiled with false bravado. Which also meant ignoring the few times she had seen the crestfallen expression on Iron Bull’s face when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Sera had done much to distract him during their recent trip to the Storm Coast. Evelyn made a mental note to thank her the next time she saw the elf.

With a sigh, Evelyn glanced back down at the sketchbook on her desk. In front of her were several sketches. There was one of Cassandra and other half attempts at getting some of features right. The angles of Cassandra’s face were difficult. By classical means, she was not lovely, but she was striking. The Seeker's strength was beautiful, and the determination in her face, especially her eyes, was difficult to capture.

Evelyn smiled to herself. With all the initial suspicion that had surrounded her when she appeared after the explosion the Temple of Sacred Ashes, a friendship between her and the Seeker was unexpected. But it happened. Day by day, she found herself able to relate to the fierce woman and see beyond her tough exterior.

If someone were able to force Evelyn to voice her most honest thoughts regarding Cassandra, it would be that she admired and respected the Seeker. She didn’t agree with everything Cassandra did, but she could understand her motivation. However, she could never say that out loud. And especially not around Varric.

On the lower half of the page was a rough sketch of Dorian with the words "Vassy-frassy" hastily scrawled next to the sketch. She closed the book. She had stared long enough at it and given it enough time to dry.

Glancing over at the couch, Evelyn feared Sera’s discovery of her sketchbook. The couch was an easy place to look...

Suddenly inspired, Evelyn snatched the book that read “An Illustrated history of Swiving.” She opened it, swapped out the book “Swords and Shields vol 2” and replaced it with her sketchbook. She then slid the book smoothly into the large empty space within the bookcase behind her.

It was a ridiculous bit of added protection considering that there were only three other books on that section of the bookshelf. Evelyn hastily grabbed the books loaned to her and slid them beside the hidden sketchbook to further camouflage it. She nodded to herself and stepped back to observe her handiwork. It would have to do.

With one glance at the sun through her windows, she knew it was time to leave her room at the very least. She felt like a coward for taking so long, but adding loneliness to her worries was unnecessary.

***

The door on her immediate right after exiting her quarters was always glanced at as she passed. The diplomat behind the door was always busily working behind the scenes--or at least working away from Evelyn’s attention--to keep the inquisition running smoothly.

At that moment, Josephine’s door was open due to Dorian’s body blocking the entrance and the diplomat herself stood a few feet away. While Josephine may have appeared to be calm, Evelyn knew she was frustrated once she spoke.  It should be noted that her Antivan accent masked the edge in her voice rather well.

“I understand what you’re saying, Dorian,” she replied with clipped words. “But I will not be removing the locks from the wine cellar.”

“Tsk tsk, Josephine,” came the charming answer. “Had I been informed that you were being inconvenienced by the occasional drink I share with my comrades, I would have listened. Surely notifying the kitchen staff would suffice?”

When Josephine crossed her arms, Evelyn decided to loiter in the hall a little longer.

“I did inform you,” she answered crisply. “Two nights ago. And I informed the staff one night ago. I have also been informed that you convinced the cook to turn a blind eye.”

“Oh, you know about that,” Dorian said sheepishly and backed out of the doorway.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine greeted Evelyn with a quirk of her eyebrow as she unfolded her arms.

Oh dear. She was about to get it. But before Evelyn could properly rally her own defenses, something strange caught her attention. The left half of of Josephine’s blouse appeared to be several shades darker than the other half. She was about to say something but Josephine continued talking.

“I understand there was a…” she hesitated, frowning as she struggled to find an adequate word. “Some sort of commotion in the gardens?”

“Oh, I uh…” she started. Her mind scrambled to say something dismissive. “Yes… I may have heard that too?”

“That rug was a gift from the Comte, who is still in Skyhold,” Josephine lectured her with a grimace. One of her delicate eyebrows arched higher as she spoke. “He is… quite horrified and would like an official response from you if this is your feelings regarding Andraste.”

Dorian’s laughter bubbled to the surface as Evelyn’s face disappeared behind one of her hands so she could roll her eyes.

“Couldn’t you make something up?” Evelyn asked from behind her hand.

“I could, but I don’t even understand what happened.”

“Never mind that,” Dorian interjected quickly. “Tell him that our Inquisitor, in a moment of exquisite and all-consuming passion, set the rug on fire.”

Josephine brought her hand to her mouth to hide her surprise. Evelyn’s face remained hidden behind her hand.

“That can’t be possible,” Josephine murmured.

“Oh,” Dorian said in that tone that indicated he was about to tell a story and possibly turn it into a grand epic about himself. “It can, and does happen. I can personally attest to that. ... But it was drapes.”

“I will not be suggesting that the Inquisitor set Andraste on fire while being intimate.”

“Well then how about she did it while praying really hard?” he suggested. His voice raised an octave as he half-heartedly mimicked Evelyn’s accent. “Oh Maker, yes Maker… I am inspired!”

Josephine frowned as she glanced between Dorian’s grinning face that dared her to ask for details or argue. Evelyn’s red face however remained firmly hidden behind her hands.

“I will think of something,” Josephine said irritably as she turned.

The door shut behind her and Dorian then rubbed his hands in delight. Evelyn finally removed her hands from her face. Her cheeks were still glowing with a hint of pink.

“Well, I’m off to see Varric.”

“Maybe you should ask Sera,” she suggested with a shake of her head as Dorian walked beside her. “I bet she has more experience with Fereldan locks.”

“I’ll consider that,” he murmured, glancing at the deserted spot that Varric usually occupied. “But I’d run the risk of her locking me in the cellar or taking a cut.”

“Would it be so bad?” she asked with a smile as the stepped through the doorway of the grand entrance.

“The downside is I would be trapped there,” he answered drolly. “The upside is that the wine would be trapped in there with me.”

The crisp air that morning nipped at Evelyn’s pinkened cheeks as they descended the stone steps.

“Do people really say “I am inspired?” she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as they passed by two Orlesian nobles gossiping about last night’s suppers.

Dorian chuckled. “There is a lot that can be said when you feel out of control.”

“Out of…? I don’t think I need to know. ...You know… Josephine has a limit as to how far she’s willing to be pushed.”

“My dear Evelyn, you are so sweet. But, I’ve seen her frilly underthings hanging from the flagpole and she has let that challenge gone unanswered.”

Evelyn was about to make another point but Dorian was on his way.

“Well, I’m off,” he announced, his hand slapping her right shoulder. “Here’s hoping that Sera’s feeling generous.”

The thought of Dorian being locked in the wine cellar kept the smile on her face as strolled along the greenery to dart through the stone arch that descended towards the stables. The moment he was discovered, Josephine would have a fit so long as Dorian’s health was intact. And Dorian would complain about being locked in the wine cellar, and that a few of the bottles he drank were indeed a terrible year thus deserving to be locked away.

 _Honestly, is it really wise of Dorian to raise the ire of Josephine so much?_ Evelyn pondered. She doubted he was aware that she was capable of destroying people without drawing a single blade.

There had been a few moments that Evelyn could vaguely recall where Lady Montilyet had offered her services in the War Room. One time she had tented her hands in delight and announced she could destroy a nobleman’s marriage, his financial security, and his good reputation with a single woman’s glove. She later went into detail that it would have to be scented with the perfume that was in style… nine months ago. Cullen and Leiliana had exchanged glances and said nothing, but Evelyn knew exactly what they were thinking: Never fuck with Josephine.

Evelyn quickly hid her frown as she nodded to Bonnie Sims cordially. The merchant was busily working her stall, setting out her wares for the morning.

“Good morning, Herald,” she called out and set down a small stack of hats she had been holding.

As she met the merchant’s gaze, Evelyn waved and stepped up to the stall to peer at the wares.

“Any new materials available?” Evelyn asked, eyeing the serault glass with mild interest.

“Not yet, my lady,” she responded, her head tilting to one side. “Shipments have been slow as of late with all the feuding in Orlais.”

“That’s a shame…”

“Yes, I was just thinking of this new…”

The woman never finished her sentence.

Evelyn sighed. Not again…

She felt a warm squeeze to her hand and glanced down. There was nothing there. But in front of her, she could see Blackwall… and… herself?

Blackwall was clasping her doppelganger’s hand affectionately.

Evelyn’s eyebrow arched. This was new. She watched Blackwall’s thumb caress the woman’s knuckles. She bit her lip to hide her smile, but it did nothing to mask the burning sensation in her cheeks or her soft sigh.

“...satin that they’ve recently started exporting, and now we have to wait,” Bonnie Sims said abruptly as the vision vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

“Son of a nug...” Evelyn muttered, unable to stop herself from using Varric’s colorful words.

“...Indeed!” Bonnie Sims’ eyes brightened after her momentary hesitation. She was delighted that the Inquisitor was eager to see trade normalize but stunned at the vulgar expression. “I knew you’d understand.”

Evelyn’s mind was elsewhere however. What exactly was the point of such a short vision? It was… it was short! And… blast it! There was no point to that vision, absolutely none! It would have been more useful to have shown her a vision of Cole picking flowers, or her male travelling companions and the Inquisition soldiers all training in the buff.

Her cheeks warmed. Her imagination wanted to further explore that thought. If her visions did ever gift her with such a sight, she knew what angle she’d want to witness it from.

...All of them.

“Y-yes,” she stammered at Bonnie, trying hard not to grin. “Well, I can ask Leiliana to look into it--” She was about to say more when she heard running steps approaching and turned her head.

One of the Inquisition messengers was hurriedly making her way up the stone stairs that lead up to the tower.

Evelyn looked away. She still hadn’t figured out the best way to explain the flaming rug that sent Cullen’s soldiers scrambling. Dorian’s suggestion stayed with her but as she was rehearsing it in her head, she could not finish saying “I set it on fire during a moment of exquisite and all-consuming passion.” She very much doubted the commander would believe it if she choked on her words or burst into a fit of nervous laughter.

Oh, she had never experienced all-consuming passion. Nor whatever was the opposite… Peckish passion? The only other life that had occupied her bed other than herself was a rat Cole had wrangled and left for her to keep her company and ended up being the terror of the kitchen and raider of the pantry. ...That should’ve taught her to not dwell on her loneliness, at least not when Cole was around. She still had no idea where the Arl of Asiago--one of the kitchen girl’s name for the rodent--had ran off.

When Evelyn politely brought the conversation with Bonnie Sims to a close (that woman sure talks a lot about fabric), she turned her head to see Blackwall walking out of the stables, leading an Amaranthine Charger by his reins.

“Blackwall,” she greeted him and cleared her throat to draw attention away from the strange ghost of a smile on her lips. “On your way for a morning ride?”

“Yes, the mountains are very calm around this time…” he hesitated then asked. “Perhaps you’d care to join me.” He paused and cautiously added, “If you’re feeling better…?”

The horse let out a soft whinny and nudged Blackwall impatiently. He patted the horse again and murmured low words of comfort to him. His thumb brushed the leather browband that the horse wore in affectionate manner that robbed Evelyn of her breath.

Evelyn found that when her breath was stolen, speech would fail her. She inwardly winced as the silence continued. Normally, she was capable of responding to such a small query.

Blackwall politely stood there, waiting for her response and patting the horse again.

“No--wait, I mean…”

But the horse was whinnying loudly, and Evelyn had to raise her voice in order to be heard.

“I’m feeling better, but I’d rather stay in Skyhold... just to be safe.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want Solas worrying about,” he answered gruffly with a shrug. “Tomorrow perhaps.”

Right… Solas...

The horse’s whinny suddenly stopped. Blackwall and the horse were nowhere in sight.

Evelyn groaned out loud then glared at her surroundings. She was standing on the balcony that lead towards vacant bedrooms that were set aside for visiting dignitaries and nobility. Below, she spied the gardens that she often strolled. She stared down at the lush greenery and the new terracotta pots that were overflowing with copious amounts of elfroot.

Evelyn was not in the mood to act dignified during this vision. She had enough.

“FUUUUUUU--” she started to curse.

But when she finished, she was still trapped in the vision.

“Andraste’s tits,” she hissed, and backed away from the balcony… right through a door as if it weren’t there.

She turned her head to survey the bedroom. Instantly her cheeks flushed and her breath left her one solid exhale. She shouldn’t stare… she REALLY shouldn’t stare. But it was something she had never seen before.

Oh… she had heard tales and read tales of it before. But… it was shocking when it was two good comrades in such a vulnerable and trusting position.

Evelyn was mildly relieved that Dorian’s eyes were covered with a strip of black cotton, and that Iron Bull’s back was facing her while he leaned over the mage’s bare torso to rain bites and licks. She didn’t think she could continue gaping if their eyes weren’t engaged elsewhere.

This is just a vision, Evelyn reminded herself. Or a dream. Or an indication of my libido going crazy.

As she watched Dorian struggle against the swath of black cloth that bound his arms to the bedposts, she was becoming more and more nervous. She needed to be certain this was a vision and not her walking around in a fevered state.

“Are you sure he’s tied up tight enough?” she asked out loud.

The only answer she received was a groan from Dorian and a dark chuckle from the Qunari warrior.

Surely she’d snap out of this vision soon… thinking that usually brought her out of it.

But it didn’t. And Evelyn started to wonder if she should sit down or get a closer look, particularly when the whole scene was so educational to her. She watched quietly as Bull’s large hands seized Dorian by his cock. The mage was twisting in the bed and fighting his bonds as Iron Bull caressed him, and stroked him.

She turned away as Dorian moaned and began to curse in his native tongue. She made a mental note to remember that technique as it looked a lot like what one of Cassandra’s books had tried to describe.

Her conscience finally won over, and she left the room by walking through the door. Vision or no, she didn’t feel comfortable peeping on her friends in such a manner. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy hit that they had that with each other--or that she could have had that with Iron Bull had she just been bold enough to say something.

But she probably ruined that the moment she put the Inquisition’s alliance with the Qunari above the safety of Bull’s Chargers.

 _Krem…_ she thought bitterly. The day they had been killed, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Cole and herself had returned to the site once night fell. Their attack swiftly took out all Tevinter force camped there. While Evelyn had become used to the mindless violence and blood, she was unprepared for how hard the sight had hit her.

The Charger’s bodies were piled in the far corner of the camp. Discarded as though they were nuisances. There were logs stacked neatly under and around them for burning later. And atop the pile, was Krem. His throat cut open and parts of his armor damaged enough to the side of his cotton bindings.

Bull had said nothing as Cole shrugged out of his coat and laid it over Krem.

“We should bury them,” the boy said softly. “They don’t want to be burned.”

She shook off that memory. She had something else to deal with right now and that issue could hardly be solved while trapped in a vision.

As she stared down at the gardens, she shrugged.

Be bold, she told herself.

Then she leapt over the rail and, instead of skidding down the angled roof, fell through the roof as though it did not exist.

**Thud!**

While Evelyn was making a sound of pain, she suddenly realized she wasn’t in pain. Even as she rubbed the part of her ass she landed on, she was fully aware that the motions were automatic.

“The darkspawn are expected to be here soon,” a voice nearby commented grimly.

She turned, her attention snared. There were two soldiers standing idly in on the stone path towards the herb gardens. They appeared tired, but tense.

“Maker… Are we even ready for this?” The shorter of the two coughed into his hand and leaned back against one of the stone pillars.

The taller one shrugged. “...We’ll have to march out eventually regardless of exhaustion or not.”

Evelyn made a mental note to herself to discuss with her advisors that she should make contact with Hawke’s Grey Warden friend as soon as possible and that the Winter’s Palace was a lower priority. Hawke had said he would send a message once they had a location ready, but perhaps it was time instead to demand that--

“--Darkspawn coming out of the Storm Coast again, the dead coming back to life… Perhaps this is a sign that the end is near.”

The soldier’s words made the skin on Evelyn’s neck prickle. The last time she heard something similar said to her was when Alexius had transported Dorian and herself into that bleak future. Is this what was happening to her? Was only her spirit travelling to the future?

“Shhh! Not so loud,” one of them hissed. “He might have ‘eard you.”

“You two!” a deep voice that was deeply annoyed boomed.

Evelyn nearly jumped. The two soldier’s straightened immediately and saluted. Commander Cullen was stalking towards them with a foul expression on his face. Maker, even angry the man was handsome. The blood smeared on his right temple did nothing to take away from--

_\--Wait, what?_

For a moment, Evelyn swore that Cullen could see her and that his ire was directed at her. But then, he passed right through her, she stared at the large gash on his temple. Her eyes swept over him quickly and she felt her chest constrict.

For the first time since she had met him, Cullen wasn’t wearing his armor. He was wearing a plain chestnut tunic. Through the neck opening, she spotted several cotton strips that were wrapped around his chest tightly. They were stained with dried blood.

Countless questions flooded Evelyn as her panic rose. What had happened? Was he seriously injured? Cullen the one who came back from the dead?

“Quit slacking off,” Cullen barked at them. “You two are supposed to be--”

“--Watching me, yes?” came a voice from the room where Andraste’s small statue resided.

Cullen frowned. “I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

Standing in front of the altar, his back to the statue, a man stood as he whispered the last word of his prayer. He was dressed in a similar tunic as Cullen, and pants that were not hemmed to his height. There were recent cuts across his face that were still on the mend, and a few scrapes and scabs across his shaved scalp just above his ears.

“I could say the same about you,” Krem said with a scowl.

Evelyn’s eyes widened.

“Inquisitor? Inquisitor??”

Her breath left her as she felt the strong hold on her arms. Blackwall’s face in front of her bobbled as he shook her harder.

Evelyn grabbed his for shoulders support and glanced around her surroundings. She was back in Skyhold. Soldiers were marching by with amused grins, glancing at her and Blackwall as she stared back dumbly, hanging on to Blackwall for dear life. In the distance, she could hear birds chirping.

She slowly turned her attention back to the Grey Warden and struggled to regain her composure.

“I-I’m sorry, I must have been daydreaming,” she apologized to him, trying to sound in control though she felt numb all over. “I do apologize for my rudeness. I-I hope I wasn’t staring at you too long to make you uncomfortable.”

“Staring?” he repeated, shaking his head. “You looked at me as though you had seen a ghost.”

Her breathe audibly left her again at his poor choice of words.

“Inquisitor, I think perhaps you should see Solas,” he insisted, releasing his hold on one of her biceps.

Evelyn realized she was still holding on to him. Her face flushed in mortification as she remembered the grinning soldiers that had passed by them. She released her grip on his shoulders and tried to step away from the safety he provided.

“No,” Evelyn bit out, resisting him. “I am fine.”

Blackwall glared at her. “Stop being stubborn.”

She returned his glare and freed herself of his hold. “I am fine,” she repeated in a hostile tone. “And I am not being stubborn.”

“Evelyn...” Blackwall’s voice softened. “I’m worried about you. And yes, you are being a stubborn ass.”

This was the first time he had used her name. It surprised her and should have warmed her, but it was one of the worst moments he could choose to test it.

“That’s Inquisitor Trevelyan to you,” she snapped, turned, and broke into a sprint without looking.

She didn’t get very far because her face had smashed right into a solid wall of armor on her second step.

In a manner that was not befitting a woman of noble blood, Evelyn bounced back and fell ass first onto the dirt, cursing very colourfully while she rubbed her sore cheek. (Luckily, she had her wits about her to rub only the one on her face.) Against her own accord, tears sprang to her eyes and she refused to raise her head. She did not want anyone to see her cry over something so stupid especially after she had made an ass of herself to Blackwall and made them both gossip fodder to anyone nearby with semi-functioning eyes in their head.

“I-Inquisitor!” the wall of armor she had yet to identify exclaimed. “Pardon me, I did not mean to… Maker… are you all right?”

She glanced up. There stood Cullen, the wall of armor (and fur) that she had walked into.

Like an ass.

Instead of taking the hand that he had offered, or the one that Blackwall now was offering, Inquisitor Trevelyan sprang to her feet and fled.

Also, like an ass.


	4. The taste of shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted as soon as I could. I'll probably go back and make a few fixes to my crimes against the English language. :)

The endless white mountains curled around Skyhold protectively. The air was chill yet welcome against her flaming face. Evelyn was still preoccupied--she was staring out from the ramparts, still quite embarrassed. And still hiding like a coward.

She had been sitting on one of the crumbled stones while immersed in her own thoughts when Cole had appeared to ask her what was wrong. She had almost failed to stifle her shriek; His ‘poofing’ into sight was difficult to get used to.

“I don’t poof,” Cole corrected in a matter-of-fact tone. “Smoke goes poof, Belongings go poof.” He paused and added with a frown, “Varric’s book royalties go poof also.”

Evelyn shook her head with a chuckle. “Varric’s royalties didn’t go poof; they just don’t get distributed. There’s a difference.”

A silence slowly settled upon them as Evelyn’s smile faded. It presented the odd boy with the perfect opportunity to find out what was bothering her. She slowly stood up and paced. Her footsteps kicked up dust as she did.

“… I’m fine, Cole,” she finally said with a sigh. “I’m just confused.”

Then she felt something tug at her mind and a pressure build in her throat. Evelyn braced herself with a grimace. She had become too familiar with that sensation; it only occurred when Cole decided to dig around in people’s heads.

“Anxious, hands sweaty, tongue thick,” Cole whispered, his words a rapid flowing stream. “I lose my words. Always makes me lose my words. Those eyes, staring… So deep. No words from those lips either back to me. Say something.. the right words. Warm feelings, hope. Don’t slip away.”

Cole paused and tilted his head curiously at her, “What are the wrong words?”

Evelyn hesitated to answer. “I don’t know, Cole, because I don’t even know what the right words are.”

“Words aren’t right or wrong,” he mused out loud, puzzling over it. “And they’re not right or wrong until someone else tells you.”

“...I suppose?”

“So then they’re not words at all. Not yet. There’s a difference. They're your feelings.”

Evelyn blinked slowly, “Okay, they’re not…?”

Cole tilted his chin up until Evelyn could stare into his eyes with the dark circles underneath them.

“You don’t need words. You don’t need wrong, or right. You need your own words, your own feelings. You need them to be... less tangled.”

Evelyn sighed, reached out and patted the rough patchwork shoulder of Cole’s tunic. He was a sweet boy, really. She wished that he was more capable of speaking in a manner that was less... complex. No, that wasn't it. If he wasn't complex, then he wouldn't be him.

“I wish it were that simple.”

“If it’s romance you seek,” Cole added brightly. “Cassandra has books that have the right words.”

Evelyn pulled her hand back to hide her face behind it. “Thank you, Cole. Those are wise words indeed.”

“Except for the Captain’s words, "he blurted out, remembering the awful Captain's moments of subterfuge in the later chapters. "He makes everyone dislike him.”

***

The soldiers were drilling again outside the tavern. The sounds of swords as they struck shields and armor filled the air. A few of the impacted sounds were loud enough that it made Evelyn’s arm shake, ready to brace for the pain.

Evelyn inwardly sighed.

At this rate, Cullen would exhaust the soldiers and that part of the vision would come true. She didn’t want to step on his toes as she hated the idea of ordering her advisors (who were experts in their own field) to do as she wanted. However, if it came to that, she could always fetch the Inquisition sword from under her bed and brazenly wave it around.

_Like an ass_ , she thought with a laugh. She wouldn’t dare unless she was severely inebriated. On the off chance it ever did happen, it would require her to be so deep into the cups that she would be unable to walk let alone lift that weapon.

The rows of soldiers paired up and facing each other to spar were in the dozens. Between two of the rows, Cullen walked back and forth, correcting the soldiers through words and through physical guidance. He looked determined (and miffed) as he swooped in on one soldier whose blocking stance was sub par.

Cassandra stood a few feet away from Evelyn, leaning against the tavern stone wall. She wore a look of disgust on her face up until her eyes turned to the Inquisitor.

“Ev,” Cassandra greeted her once Evelyn came up beside her.

“Cass,” she said with a nod, gesturing towards the soldiers. “How long has he been drilling them?”

“An hour or so.”

They both glanced over as two messengers scurried up to the commander to deliver their messages. He took them from the two, nodded at them and spoke to them with very simple body language to accompany it. His body language read very loudly: “This will be sufficient.”

“Have you spoken to Cullen about exhausting the troops?” Evelyn hesitantly asked.

“I did,” she admitted and made a grunt of displeasure. “He said “I will think about it.”

“That means no, doesn’t it?”

“You know it does. Perhaps you should try talking sense into him. I doubt he’s willing to listen though.”

_Maybe I do need to get the Inquisition sword_ , Evelyn thought wryly.

“How did you like the book?”

Evelyn froze. The title of “The bridge of no tit jo” flashed through her mind. The tension bled out of her once she realized there was no chance that Cassandra was referring to that book.

“Oh, Swords and Shields?” Evelyn asked, relieved.

“Yes, what other book is there?” she inquired curiously.

Evelyn thought about that for a moment. The other book she could’ve asked about was An Illustrated history of Swiving, but the odds of the Seeker being aware of that was as likely as her knowing about “The bridge of no tit jo.”

“Oh, um, nothing,” came Evelyn’s response finally.

The Seeker’s neatly groomed eyebrows knit together and she eyed her with suspicion. “All right.”

“I haven’t had a chance to read it. I’ve been busy bringing my knowledge on nobility up to Josephine’s standard.”

Cassandra did nothing to suppress her groan. “Nobles,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I can tell you everything you need to know about nobility.”

“Which is?”

“The further away the story is, the less the family deserves to be called noble,” she said caustically. “They’re also less pleasant to deal with.”

Evelyn sucked in her breath thoughtfully and let Cassandra’s bit of wisdom process in her head.

“What does that make you then?”

“The exception,” Cassandra replied with a smirk. “Anything interesting in that book?”

“Only if you add “in his breeches” to the end of every sentence.”

Evelyn and her exchanged smiles briefly. Their banter was quickly forgotten when a sound of frustration from Commander was heard loud and clear that made Evelyn jump.

“For Andraste’s sake, take a moment then,” Cullen snapped at a soldier with one knee to the ground. “These are drills, not the real battle!” He straightened to his full height and turned to address all the soldiers with flashing eyes. “The Inquisition needs you at your best during our battles, not during the drills.”

Cassandra muttered something under her breath that only Evelyn could hear. She then called out, “Commander, I would like to take over. I believe you have something to discuss with the Inquisitor.”

Cullen’s sudden glare vanished as his eyes turned to Cassandra approaching. He spotted the Inquisitor behind her, and she looked unnerved.

Evelyn felt the blood drain out of her face. She hadn’t expected Cassandra to toss her into an immediate conversation with the Commander who was walking towards her.

“Inquisitor,” he said with a nod. “I was hoping to see you. I wanted to apologize for startling you earlier.”

Evelyn swallowed the lump in her throat. Not this again. She was hoping to never speak of that.

“It’s, all right, Commander. I… I was not in the best state then. Could we please not speak of it again?”

Cullen glanced side to side and said nothing as he mulled over her words. A wrinkle appeared across his forehead as he glanced down at the missives in his hand before he raised his gaze to her. “I’ve been reading strange reports lately.” He hesitated. “Why did... “the Maker try to smite our soldiers with a burning rug?” ” He quoted one of his missives and paused to see if she’d immediately offer an answer. He continued when two seconds passed. “I saw the rug myself. I know it originates from your quarters.”

Evelyn struggled to keep a neutral expression on her face and fake disinterest, “Oh, that? That was Dorian.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Dorian was in your quarters… burning a rug and launching it at our soldiers?”

Evelyn realized how that must sound and noticed from the corner of her eye two soldiers that rested by for far too long. Eavesdroppers, no doubt.

“No, I burned the rug, but everything got out of control with Sera’s alcohol… no, Iron Bull’s alcohol. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter who’s alcohol it was... And then Dorian launched it because the bedding didn’t do the trick,” she explained.

Cullen stared at her with a befuddled expression on his face.

“Let me try again. I set a rug on fire--”

“--Purposely?” he interrupted her, still confused.

“No, by accident.”

“With magic?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t set it on fire in a moment of passion,” she replied with more bite and volume than she meant to.

When Cullen struggled not to laugh and the corner of his mouth twitched, she felt her face burn up. It occurred to her that with Cullen being an ex-templar, there was a possibility he knew about magic showing up unwantedly during lovemaking. Surely the templars gossipped about the oddities. Circle mages gossiped about everything under the sun. During her time at the Ostwick Circle, she had even heard rumors regarding his unsavory methods during his time in Kirkwall.

“No, not with magic,” she quickly explained, waving her hands and not wanting Cullen to think that badly of her nor did she want to witness his temper. “I knocked over some candles and it burned the rug, and eventually the bedding.”

“I see... are you all right?”

“I am,” she responded with a shrug, glancing at the toe of her boot. “I was not in the bed when the bedding was on fire. Sera came by with drinks as I was screaming. I threw the drinks at the fire, but I didn’t stop to consider if she had brought me alcohol… Because who drinks alcohol that early?”

“Iron Bull,” Cullen answered her rhetorical question automatically. “Sera, Dorian. Probably most of Leliana’s agents… And definitely the skittish one who keeps hovering near me.”

“--Anyways, we tried to smother the flames with the bedding,” she continued, raising her voice to make her point. “It didn’t work. But Dorian showed up also and that’s when he threw the rug off the balcony so Sera and I didn’t die in a fire.”

She paused and added lamely, “Andraste’s face is badly scorched, but other than that, the bedding was barely touched.”

The two of them stopped talking and turned to look at the soldiers.

The two nearest soldiers that they had been both trying to ignore in in the corner of their eyes were indeed nudging each other. In the distance, Cassandra could be seen watching the interaction very carefully--this included Evelyn and Cullen’s interactions.

Cullen’s eyes narrowed to slits. The action instantly sent a chill down the two soldiers’ spines. They both straightened, turned to each other, and resumed sparring with more gusto than was necessary.

“These recruits… Andraste preserve me. They’re like children.”

Feeling that playfulness would disarm the situation, Evelyn smirked and suddenly asked, “How would you know? Do you have any?”

“No…” he answered cautiously with a strange look upon his face. “I… I have a few nieces and nephews, but no children.”

“That you know of,” Evelyn added jokingly and immediately regretted it. She was cursed with words coming out of her mouth. What was wrong with her today?

The ex-templar arched a brow before dryly commenting, “I know for a fact that I have no children.”

***

_Maker’s breath, that was something that sounded better in my head_ , Cullen thought.

He sighed under his own breath and managed to avoid Evelyn’s curious gaze. He sincerely hoped she didn’t investigate it further as he was unsure of what to say to deflect it.

He watched as Cassandra growled at one of the recruits, the one that had been giving him so much trouble during the entire drill. The poor man was incapable of blocking properly.

“Here is where you want to hold it,” she declared loudly, her lips twisting into a grimace as the soldier’s stance crumbled under her gaze.

The Seeker grabbed his hand, raised it higher, then held out the shield for him to hold. He took it from her and faltered.

“No! Not lower! Here!” She grabbed the shield and raised it higher to emphasize her point.

“Perhaps each recruit needs a personal mentor assigned to them,” Evelyn softly suggested.

Cullen glanced over at her. She had one hand thoughtfully covering her mouth as she continued.

“I don’t know how the Ferelden or Kirkwall circle conducted themselves, but in Ostwick, I’ve seen a few of the…” she hesitated, struggling to find the word, “Very senior templars take some of their newer recruits on a one-on-one basis to focus on building their weakness.”

“What exactly do you mean by “very senior?” he asked, dreading that her answer would in fact be her finger pointing at his face.

“Someone like you,” she answered, then promptly pinkened when Cullen’s face pinched. “Wait, no, not, like that…! You’re not old!”

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as Evelyn tried to dig herself out of the even deeper hole she had traipsed into.

“I haven’t bothered to learn the ranks,” she admitted, looking embarrassed. “What I meant was the templars who would be close to preparing for a commanding role. They shouldn’t be sent onto the field as often, thus we should have them train.”

“...I will think about it,” Cullen responded noncommittally.

He watched as Evelyn’s face disappeared behind her hand. She did that a lot when she was embarrassed.

_Good_ , he thought. _She **should** be embarrassed._

“Are you aware that we’re almost the same age?” he asked, unable to resist the opportunity to make her squirm even more. “In fact, I believe you’re older than me by a few months.”

She moved her hand to reveal a surprised expression. “You must be joking.”

He shook his head with a smirk. “My birthday already passed.”

She groaned from behind her hand and shook her head. “Are you aware that shoes must taste amazing?”

“Because you keep putting your foot in your mouth?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes.” Her hand slid lower off of her face until two green eyes were staring out at him. “There is a reason I didn’t bother to learn the ranks… I tried very hard to avoid talking to Templars in the Circle to avoid situations like this. I’ve found the best way for me to appear to stay out of the scrutiny from templar is to get flustered. It seems it’s no longer an act.”

“You are not under my scrutiny.”

“I know that.”

“And I’m not a templar anymore,” he added.

“… I know that too, Commander,” she said softly, pulling the rest of her hand away to reveal a hesitant smile.

Of course she was aware of it. And that statement alone made Cullen aware of many other things. For starters, she kept insisting on calling him Commander instead of by his given name. He needed to correct that.

“I’ve had enough of this! I’m leaving!” Cassandra’s voice interrupted their moment. Cullen turned to see the Seeker wave and slowly walk away. She stopped after a few steps, turned around and added, “I’ll be in the Great Hall if you need me.”

He wasn’t sure who Cassandra was speaking to.

“...Um, okay,” came Evelyn’s confused answer. Followed by a lame “Thanks.”

Cullen briefly wondered what made Cassandra want to announce that but decided it wasn’t of any import. He turned back to the Inquisitor just as she was continuing the previous topic of conversation.

“Part of the reason I had wanted to approach the Templars was for that very reason,” Evelyn admitted, watching the swords flash in the light as the soldiers continued their practice. “The templars I knew were aware that they are only as strong as their weakest templar. I witnessed in the Circle how important it was to them to focus on their own weaknesses.”

When she paused Cullen realized she was nervous. He wondered why that was. She seemed to be fine when she was speaking to the soldiers or her other companions. Perhaps it was him being an ex-templar that was to blame. He made a mental note to himself to remind her that he was in service of the Inquisition only, and that he should make the extra effort to socialize with her outside of Inquisition business. Only then would he be able to combat her nervous tendencies around him, and it would also serve his own purposes.

“While I don’t know if they’d welcome the chance to bring our troops up to snuff,” she added softly. “I know a lot of them are very passionate about their training. I imagine being out of their normal surroundings is jarring… and everything that is familiar about their training may make them feel more at home… since this is their home. … Or at the very least it could provide a distraction, Commander.”

The commander’s eyebrow arched for a moment. His lips tightened briefly before he relaxed. “I will take that into consideration and speak to Ser Barris,” he said slowly, studying her face.

While it was evident that Evelyn cared about the well being and status of her close comrades, he had expected that her awareness of the templars’ presence in the Inquisition was minimal at best. He assumed she would’ve had reservations of approaching them in the beginning, most likely they stemmed from her experiences in the Circle.

Cullen remembered how pleasantly surprised he had been when she had announced her willingness to travel to Therinfal Redoubt to rendezvous with Ser Barris. His surprise grew when she had announced that she had demanded the templars they recruited to leave the order and pledge their allegiance to the Inquisition.

And now this.

My, she was full of surprises.

**

Evelyn glanced behind her, unsure of what Cullen was staring at. When she saw no one was behind her, it made her even more nervous. And whenever she became nervous, she had a ramble on like a ninny.

“Plus, I thought it would be a good thing to test my own weakness… Approaching the templars,” she added with a pained smile. “This isn’t the Circle… I don’t like appearing weak around them.”

She stopped herself when she realized she was rambling like a ninny and doing so did nothing for her status as leader of the Inquisition.

Cullen shook his head, “You are not weak for being a certain way during your life in the Circle.” He shifted his weight to one foot with a sigh. “The Circle changes you. You do what you have to… To survive.”

“Survive… right. Anyways,” Evelyn started, staring off in the distance. “I am supposed to be looking for someone--”

Evelyn was about to say farewell, when Cullen suddenly blurted out, “--Blackwall was looking for you”.

Her step faltered and she cleared her throat. “Oh, yes, I-I know. I spoke to him just awhile ago… You were there.”

Evelyn exhaled slowly, hoping that he wouldn’t continue. She didn’t want to risk the conversation homing in on that awkward interaction, or how she disgracefully fell into the dirt and ran. It would bring up too many questions that she was unwilling to answer.

“He seems to be your shadow as of late,” Cullen remarked.

Evelyn hesitated, embarrassed that he noticed. “He’s very… capable.”

She felt strange having said that, but it was true. There wasn’t much else she could comment on the mysterious grey warden as he insisted on keeping himself at a distance. Blackwall kept feeding people crumbs of himself when it suited him.

“I-I mean. He’s a good man,” she added. “I haven’t heard otherwise, have you?”

“No.”

“It won’t be a distraction,” Evelyn suddenly said, feeling very defensive.

“That’s all right, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, his head tilting side to side to work out a crick in his neck. “I… I was not suggesting that. Whoever you have feelings for… well, that’s your own private matter.”

“Thanks. Wait, I don’t--” she started, but then she thought about her own reaction to the vision she had of Blackwall. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Thank you…” Yet when she said it, she didn’t sound like she meant it.

Cullen arched a brow at her but said nothing as he folded his hands together over the pommel of his sword.

“...I should get going,” she said out loud more to herself than to Cullen.

“Evelyn, I didn’t mean to,” Cullen muttered as she left. His grip tightened. “Another time, Inquisitor.”

_Inquisitor Ninny,_ she titled herself in her thoughts with a mental shake. _That is the nickname I’ll be given if I continue like this._

***

The second floor of the tower was dedicated to learning. The promise of knowledge practically glowed off of the books and bookcases in the candlelight. It made perfect sense that it was Dorian’s favorite place to haunt; he often enjoyed taking a deep dive into Ferelden history only to laugh at a hilarious detail when he surfaced to test his companion’s knowledge.

Evelyn was very much disappointed to find the alcove empty.

She turned and called out to one of the elves that was currently laden with a heavy stack.

“Excuse me…” she hesitated, unable to recall the woman’s name. “Er, have you seen Dorian?”

The elven female shrugged and continued to resort the books on the shelf in front of her.

“Is that you, Inquisitor?” a voice called.

Evelyn approached the railing and peered down. Solas was standing on the scaffolding with a wide and flat paint brush in hand. At his feet lay several wide mouthed earthen bowls full of paints.

“Solas,” she said, nodding towards her mural. “Looks good.”

He ignored her attempts at idle chat. “Was there something you needed?”

Evelyn hesitated, glanced over at the empty alcove. She had no idea where Dorian was.

_What if he’s with Bull right now?_ she thought.

Erp. No. She remembered the exposed bronze skin she had seen in her vision and decided that now was not the time to look for him. She did not want to catch her friend in a compromising position should her visions be an actual glimpse of the future.

“Yes, I could use some advice if you’re not busy, Solas.”


End file.
